Capítulo 10: Ichibei
Arima walked side by side with Unohana through the halls of the First Division headquarters.
His presence alone caused every Shinigami they passed to freeze in their steps, bowing instinctively as his immense spiritual pressure brushed against them, though carefully restrained.
Unohana, calm as ever, walked gracefully beside him, her aura serene and radiant, though there was a quiet glow to her that had not been present before.
As they entered the office of the Head Captain, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni stood immediately—a gesture of rare respect from a man who commanded the entirety of the Gotei 13.
Though Yamamoto appeared older, it was a littl known fact that Arima was the elder, and also the onw who trained the head captain in olden days.
"Arima-dono," Yamamoto said with a solemn bow, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. "It is an honor to receive you and Captain Unohana here today."
Arima stepped forward with measured calm, his towering form imposing even without his usual killing intent.
He carried an air of absolute authority, as if the very room yielded to his presence.
His eyes scanned Yamamoto briefly before settling on him with an almost casual ease.
"I'll make this brief," Arima began, his tone unwavering but respectful. "Unohana will not be fulfilling any of her captain duties for the foreseeable year. I would also prefer if she is not disturbed, even in the event of an emergency."
Yamamoto's brows furrowed, surprised by the unusual demand.
A request of this magnitude—especially concerning Unohana, one of the most critical captains in the Gotei 13—was unheard of.
His weathered gaze fixed on Arima, searching for answers.
"What could be the reason for this, Arima-dono?" Yamamoto asked carefully, his voice steady but curious.
The room grew still as Arima's expression softened, a sight so rare that even Yamamoto, the hardened leader of the Gotei 13, felt an inexplicable chill crawl up his spine.
Arima's usually stoic face gave way to something Yamamoto had never seen—genuine warmth.
It didn't fit at all on the face of the man who used to terrify him during the days he was learning more about Zanka no Tachi.
A small smile tugged at his lips, and his eyes, which had so often terrified him, now glimmered with something Yamamoto couldn't believe —love.
"I am going to be a father," Arima replied simply, his voice uncharacteristically tender.
The declaration stunned Yamamoto into rare silence.
His sharp eyes widened slightly as the weight of the words hit him.
For a man like Arima—legendary, untouchable, and feared—to speak such words with that expression on his face, it was almost surreal.
Behind him, Unohana smiled softly, her calm demeanor illuminated by the faintest blush as she stood quietly at Arima's side, radiating serenity and pride.
For a moment, Yamamoto was speechless.
Then, with great care, he bowed his head again, deeper this time.
"Congratulations, Arima-dono. And to you, Captain Unohana," Yamamoto said with rare sincerity, his voice reflecting genuine respect.
"The Gotei 13 will ensure no disturbances come your way."
"Good," Arima responded, his demeanor settling back into its usual stoic calm.
"I trust you will uphold that."
Without further word, Arima turned and began to leave, Unohana following beside him, her presence serene and content.
Yamamoto watched them quietly, still processing the moment.
For a man who had taught him the very flames of his Bankai, for a warrior he once believed to be beyond any human need or desire, this moment felt almost… like a badly written dream.
As the door slid shut behind them, Yamamoto released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Even the White Reaper..." he murmured to himself, a rare smile tugging at his lips, "can find peace in life."
---
Arima sat silently in the serene garden of their home, the afternoon light casting a soft golden hue over the landscape.
The air was peaceful, disturbed only by the gentle rustling of leaves and the contented sounds of the animals gathered around them.
Unohana leaned comfortably against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed, as if soaking in the warmth of both the sun and his presence.
A sleek black cat purred on Unohana's lap, kneading her soft robe with lazy satisfaction.
Arima, however, was focused on something else—his calloused hand gently running along the back of Nokotan, a deer with weathered fur and tired eyes, yet an undeniable grace that time could not take away.
Her movements were slower now, and the years she carried were evident.
"Nokotan," Arima murmured softly, his voice carrying an unusual tenderness.
The old deer nudged his hand in response, her large eyes closing briefly as if comforted by the familiarity of his touch.
Beside her, two younger deer—her offspring—stood close, keeping watch as if understanding their mother's fragility.
Unohana's voice broke the quiet. "It still doesn't feel real," she whispered, her tone soft but carrying the weight of their shared wonder.
She glanced down at the cat curled up on her lap, gently scratching behind its ear as she continued, "Even after I've examined it myself countless times, it feels so surreal."
Arima turned his head slightly to look at her.
His eyes, which often carried an overwhelming intensity, were softer , in fact he had been more expressive since that moment—reflecting the importance he held to it.
He remained silent for a moment, his hand pausing on Nokotan's back as he considered her words.
"You've never been wrong about something like this...," he finally said, his voice low and steady. "It's real."
Unohana smiled faintly, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "I know," she replied, her hand unconsciously resting over her abdomen.
"And yet…"
She trailed off, letting the unspoken words linger in the air. Arima understood.
For centuries, they had lived lives governed by duty, war, and the inevitable circumstances of their lives...
Now, they were experiencing something they had thought impossible—a moment untouched by conflict, a future that held new life.
It went beyond logic built over centuries.
Beyond expectation.
Arima's focus returned to Nokotan, his large hand smoothing over her aging fur once more.
The deer let out a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and lowered herself to rest on the grass beside him.
He had cared for her bloodline for generations, and with each passing era, Nokotan's ancestors had been his silent companions—a constant in his life when so little else remained unchanged.
"She's almost seventy," he said quietly, his voice holding a hint of melancholy. "A long life, even for here."
Unohana watched him, recognizing the affection in his actions. "You care for them more than you let on," she noted with a small smile.
Arima gave a faint hum of acknowledgment. "Perhaps," he admitted. "They're simpler than other souls. Their lives move as they're meant to—no questions, no battles."
Unohana leaned closer, resting her head more firmly against his shoulder. "And yet you've fought to preserve that simplicity for generations," she murmured.
A rare smile ghosted across Arima's lips, almost imperceptible.
He reached down to scratch behind Nokotan's ear, the old deer flicking her tail appreciatively.
"The least I can do," he said quietly, "is ensure they live peacefully while I'm here."
The two sat in silence once more, the weight of their shared happiness settling over them like a gentle blanket.
Unohana's breathing was steady, her fingers still absentmindedly stroking the cat in her lap, while Arima continued tending to Nokotan and her young.
As the sunlight began to wane, Unohana spoke again, her voice soft but certain. "We'll be good parents."
Arima's eyes met hers, his gaze lingering for a moment before he nodded. "Yes," he said simply.
"We will."
---
At night.
Arima stood in the tranquil night outside his home, his gaze sharp and measured as he scanned the area.
With a wave of his hand and deliberate movements, he began casting layer after layer of protective Kido.
Each one was different, complex incantations overlapping as shimmering barriers and invisible seals blanketed the house.
The air hummed softly with power as the 99 distinct protections fell into place, a testament to his mastery over ancient arts few could even comprehend.
His eyes lingered on the house one last time, ensuring everything was secure.
The gentle sound of nocturnal animals blended into the background as he turned toward the resting Nokotan and her offspring.
The aging deer lifted her head as if sensing his intent, her large eyes meeting his.
For a moment, there was a silent exchange between them—centuries of shared understanding reflected in their gaze.
Without a word, Arima raised his hand, and Nokotan's antlers began to glow faintly, the soft light growing until it shone with a brilliance that rivaled the moon.
A swirling mark—a seal—manifested on her forehead.
The ground trembled slightly as Nokotan's form shifted.
Her body grew, muscles solidifying as a majestic armor, elegant yet imposing, formed around her.
When the transformation ended, she stood at a towering 11 feet, her antlers now gleaming like tempered steel.
A soft glow still pulsed from the seal on her head, as if tethering her to Arima.
"This is the least I can do," Arima murmured, his voice low but resolute. "Protect this place while I'm away."
The ability that enabled this transformation was drawn from the first stage of his Zanpakuto—Symbiosis.
Unlike any Zanpakuto wielded in modern Soul Society that had a shikai or bankai , Arima's blade had four distinct stages, each with four sub-divisions, totaling sixteen unique abilities with varying strengths.
Symbiosis, the most foundational stage, allowed him to form a binding contract with living beings—granting them access to a fraction of his strength in exchange for their undisputed loyalty and coexistence.
The lineage of Nokotan had been under his protection for centuries, a pact formed generations ago.
Through this contract, Nokotan now wielded 10% of Arima's boundless strength, her body enhanced beyond the limits of ordinary creatures supassing almost all ordinary Shinigami, ready to defend her land and master.
Satisfied, Arima turned, his cloak billowing as he vanished in a flicker of movement.
---
Far away, in a secluded corner of Soul Society, Arima reappeared, his presence crackling through the air.
The ground beneath him scorched lightly from the residual force of his reiatsu.
Lifting his head, he directed his gaze upward, toward the sky where the Soul King's Palace resided.
"Ichibei!" Arima's voice rang out like thunder, reverberating across the still landscape.
"Come down. We need to talk."
There was no response—only silence. Arima narrowed his eyes in mild annoyance.
He wasn't one to be ignored, even by the likes of Ichibei Hyosube, the Monk Who Calls the Real Name.
Clicking his tongue, Arima stooped down and picked up a small, unassuming stone from the ground.
His fingers closed around it, and the faint hum of Symbiosis flared to life once again.
In his hand, the ordinary stone began to radiate with power as he enhanced it to an absurd degree—imbuing it with reinforced density, unparalleled sharpness, and overwhelming reiatsu.
The stone vibrated in his palm as if struggling to contain its newfound strength.
"Fine," Arima muttered, his tone carrying an edge. "If asking doesn't work…"
With a sudden surge of motion, Arima lunged forward and hurled the enhanced stone with every ounce of his strength.
As it flew, he coated it further with his reiatsu, amplifying its destructive force exponentially.
The sky shattered.
A thunderous crack echoed through the heavens as the stone streaked upward like a meteor.
Seventy of the seventy-two barriers protecting the Soul King's Palace fractured and dissolved in an instant, obliterated as if they were made of glass.
The spiritual resonance generated from the impact rippled outward, shaking the very fabric of Soul Society.
Arima stood calmly, his crimson eyes fixed on the broken sky.
Dust and fragments of energy drifted down like ash, the remains of once-unbreakable barriers.
"Are you going to ignore me now?" he said coolly, his voice carrying both challenge and authority.
The air grew heavy, a presence unmistakably responding to his call.
A deep, resonant laughter echoed from the darkness as the broken sky seemed to repair itself, and a figure slowly descended.
Ichibei Hyosube,, appeared in his signature robes, his wide grin betraying no anger—only intrigue.
"Arima," Ichibei said, his voice dripping with amusement. "It's been far too long. Must you always be so dramatic?"
Arima crossed his arms, his expression unchanging. "I don't have time for games, Ichibei. There are matters we must discuss."
Ichibei's grin widened further, his gaze assessing Arima with interest. "You truly haven't changed at all."
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